


This could be a shipwreck on the shore

by Elisexyz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (individual warnings in the chapters), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Banter, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Injury, Sharing a Bed, married au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: 1.“Wait!” she calls. “We can come to an arrangement!”3. “Iam insane?” she scoffs. “Would you please remind me who out of the two of us used to kill people for a living?”4.“You’d think SHIELD would have better holes for us to hide in.”6.“What I am isfeverish. And at high risk of dying of dehydration.”9.“Yeah, well, are you done sassing me or would you rather let me bleed out?”10.“You don’t look like an angel.”Collection of Biospecialist themed Tumblr ficlets.





	1. “Thanks for helping me back there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [148: “Thanks for helping me back there.”](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/170353622929/148-biospecialist-i-love-that-you-ship-grant) \+ Biospecialist. Zombie Apocalypse AU.

If it wasn’t scientifically impossible, she’d swear that her heart was stuck in her throat, beating like crazy. Jemma slides away from under the now truly dead zombie, hyper-aware of the pieces of brains that ended up on her face and clothes.

“You alright?”

The man who swooped in and saved her from becoming someone’s lunch is standing in front of her, offering his hand to help her up. The first thing Jemma notices, in spite of how stupidly  _shallow_  it is, is that he’s really attractive.

“Yeah,” she answers, slowly, accepting his hand and finding herself forcibly pulled on her feet a moment later. It takes a couple of seconds for her to regain balance. “Thanks for helping me,” she finally says, offering a grateful smile.

She can still feel the hands of the corpses gripping her arms, her clothes, trying to get close enough to tear away pieces of flesh with their teeth. She can still hear her own screams, they echo in her ears alongside the ones of those whose death she has witnessed.

She is not a fighter. She can hold her own with a bit of luck, but mostly she prefers to hide it out, run, avoid a physical confrontation with those— things. She still finds it hard to think of them as monsters from horror stories, they’re more like people infected with an horrible disease. A disease that makes them dangerous, closer to rabid animals than humans.

“You’re welcome,” the stranger replies, without any particular inflection in his voice. He offers a slight smile that matches hers, and Jemma is about to introduce herself, keep the conversation going somehow, because she’s been alone for what feels like an eternity— But he turns around and starts walking away like nothing happened.

When she realizes what’s happening, when she feels her throat constricting and her stomach twisting at the thought of being helpless and alone again, relying only on another miraculous coincidence to survive, he’s already a few feet away from her.

“Wait!” she calls. “We can come to an arrangement!” she adds, when he doesn’t stop.

That makes him stop walking. He turns around, a teasing grin on his face and his eyebrows raised. “If you mean the one in which I keep saving your ass and I string you along solely for the pleasure of your company,” he says. “Thank you, but I’ll have to pass.”

Jemma swallows a couple of insults, because it wouldn’t really help her cause. He’s kind of an ass, but her choices are limited. “I’m a scientist,” she declares, crossing her arms. Which ends with her finding zombie remains in between her fingers. She does her best to keep her disgust off her face and she doesn’t change position, because judging by the twitch in his eyes he’s totally noticed, which makes it a matter of principle. “I have a cure,” she explains. “It’s all in my head, it could end all—  _this_.” She vaguely gestures in the corpses’ general direction. “I just need to get to the Center of Disease Control.”

It’s not a lie, thankfully, because she’s always been a crappy liar. She really does have a cure in her head, she was working on it with Fitz back before their lab was overrun, it’s just never been properly tested and they don’t have enough data to be sure that it will work. But it  _could_.

“A cure, uh?” the man says, thoughtfully playing with his gun. That can’t possibly be safe. She resists the urge to yell at him to knock it off because that’s obviously not a toy and she doesn’t want to end up with a hole in her stomach. “I don’t know, I’m kinda having the time of my life here,” he comments.

Jemma stares at him wordlessly, feeling her expression modelling in disgust and disbelief. How could anyone have  _fun_  during something like—

“Oh, come on,” he grins, finally putting away the gun and taking a couple of steps towards her. “Just kidding. Grant Ward,” he adds, offering his hand once again.

Jemma quietly shakes her head, drawing a small smile at his fucked-up sense of humour before shaking his hand. “Jemma Simmons.”

“Well,  _Jemma_ ,” he says, repeating her name slowly as if to taste it before heading a charming smile her way. “It looks like we have a deal.”


	2. "I can take care of myself just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [147: “I can take care of myself just fine.”](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/170428800934/147-i-can-take-care-of-myself-just-fine) \+ Biospecialist. S2 AU, Ward and Jemma go undercover as a couple in Hydra. 

“What’s wrong?”

Jemma has gotten much better at hiding her facial clues and even at downright  _lying_ , but that doesn’t mean that she’s yet able to fool him, especially if he manages to witness those few seconds when she first enters their apartment and she lets all the masks fall, at least until she looks at him and she remembers that she’s not alone.

She scoffs. “What isn’t?” she shoots back.

He can imagine that lying all the time, trying to work her way up the enemy’s ranks, finding herself thrown into a specialist’s life with little to no training, it would all take quite the tool on her. Grant is honestly surprised that she’s been holding up so well.

“You’re doing good,” he assures. Jemma is standing next to the table where she threw her bag, leaning heavily on it, her head bowed to hide her expression. He slowly starts walking up to her, keeping his arms down to look as unthreatening as possible. “Our cover is solid, everything will be fine.”

“You mean  _my_  cover,” she snaps, suddenly raising her head and shooting him a cold glare. “For  _once_ , you are being yourself here. Loyal Hydra agent—”

“I was never loyal to Hydra,” he automatically protests, silently cursing because she pulled away,  _again_. In the few weeks that they’ve spent there, she’s allowed him to get close only when it made sense for their cover, in front of witnesses, no matter how much she clearly needs some comfort.

“Sure you aren’t,” she scoffs. “Just— stop trying to act like we are friends. We most certainly  _aren’t_. The only reason why you are here is that we didn’t have an  _alternative_.”

Grant sighs. She’s clearly upset, exhaustion evident on her face and her hands trembling slightly. Whenever Coulson comes over, she hugs him for at least half a minute, and when he pulls back she seems to linger on the touch for a couple of seconds. She clearly needs more human contact than the touches that she allows him to sell their cover can provide.

He briefly debates trying to move closer again, but she has taken a step back and she has crossed her arms, looking at him with burning hatred.

“I’m just worried, Jemma,” he says instead. “That’s all.”

“Well,  _don’t_  be,” she hisses. “I can take care of myself just fine, I don’t need your  _undoubtedly_   _sincere_  concern.”

“It  _is_  sincere,” he assures, looking at her in the eye. It’s not a complete lie: he  _does_  hope that he’ll get her to see him as something other than a monster – he isn’t really looking forward to going back to Vault D as soon their assignment is over, and an ally would surely help his cause –, but that doesn’t mean that he enjoys seeing her suffering. Hell, if she just stopped being so stubborn and she let him in, it’d be a win-win.

Jemma stares back, the corner of her mouth trembling slightly, betraying the effort that she’s putting into keeping her expression neutral. She looks away first.

“It’s your turn to cook tonight,” she says, before grabbing her bag and heading for the bedroom without meeting his eyes as she walks past him. “I need a shower.”

He takes it as a sign that at the very least a part of her  _wants_  to believe him. He can work with that.


	3. "I'm seriously questioning your life choices based on that playlist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["I'm seriously questioning your life choices based on that playlist." + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/171906273554/hi-i-know-this-is-not-in-the-list-but-can-you), Post-Uprising AU, Established Relationship.

“I don’t believe you,” Grant scoffs, turning towards her, which gives Jemma a perfectly nice visual of his slight grin and of the affection in his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Is it a crime?” she replies, crossing her arms and fighting off the smile pushing to twist her lips, trying to convey some fake annoyance instead, for the sake of the game.

“Not really,” he replies, amused. “But it’s batshit insane.”

“ _I_ am insane?” she scoffs. “Would you please remind me who out of the two of us used to kill people for a living?”

“That’s unfair,” he protests, turning around to check that the luggage behind them is secured and there’s no risk that it’ll fall on his head while he’s driving. “Specialists’ work is more than just killing. Don’t make me sound like a—”

“Barbarian?”

“I was about to say animal, but that too,” he shrugs, getting comfortable on his seat once he’s satisfied that everything is in place. A smile spreads on Jemma’s face and she doesn’t bother containing it, overwhelmed by the joy of having him _there_ , with her, about to embark on a road trip merely because she wanted to.

“Still, _this_ is some next level,” he keeps going. “A playlist for the road trip— that I get. But you have like _a hundred_ of them.”

“Now that’s an exaggeration,” Jemma protests. They surely can’t be _a hundred_. And yes, she has created many playlists, just like she has prepared many itineraries, taking into account the sites that might not be available due to the weather and places that wouldn’t want to visit if they were too tired, and she has packed enough snacks to last for a lifetime, _and_ she has rehearsed a backstory for their fake aliases – which were needed because they don’t want that petty war between SHIELD and Hydra to catch up with them, do they?

She is no good at improvisation, so she is going to compensate with preparation. Especially _now_ , because this trip, being the first celebration of their new life, must be perfect.

“Oh, really?” he scoffs. “You have one for each of our possible moods,” he starts listing, counting on his fingers. “You have one for each mood accompanied by a specific weather condition. You have one for when it’s morning, afternoon, dawn, night, lunch time—”

“I get it,” she interrupts, shooting a displeased glare at him.

“I wasn’t even half-way through the list,” he complains, innocently. “My favourite is the one for when we are— _joyful after lunch_ ,” he reads, trying to suppress a chuckle and being terrible at it.

“So?”

“ _So_ I’m seriously questioning your life choices right now,” he replies. He’s smiling and he’s relaxed and Jemma knows that he is carrying at least a gun and probably half a dozen knives, because he too likes to come prepared, just in a different way, but it’s nice to know that she can pretend that neither of them have anything to do with shady secret organizations, because he doesn’t _care_ about SHIELD, not anymore.

“Well, if you think I am that crazy, feel free to drop out and go back,” she says, a touch childishly. She _knows_ his answer to this, but she can’t resist the temptation of pushing him to chase away her fear of abandonment every now and then.

In fact, his grin turns into a soft smile as he shifts on his seat to get closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her into a brief hug and lay a kiss on the top of her head. “There’s no place I’d rather be, you know that,” he assures.

She smiles. “I do know that.”

“Good,” he comments, squeezing her gently before letting go and straightening on his seat. They buckle in and when Jemma raises her eyes on him again he’s staring at her like she’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. It’s heart-warming. “Where to first, ma’am?” he asks, playfully.

“Let’s start with Chicago, shall we?” she offers, a slight smile on her face as she takes a brief look at the map that she prepared.

“Of course,” he says, lightly, starting the car. “Happy to comply.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Jemma came up with all those playlists to distract herself during the brainwashing (yes, she brainwashed him. Yes, for once Ward is the stable one LOL)
> 
> EDIT: This now has [a prequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117850).


	4. "There’s only one bed…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [154: “There’s only one bed...” + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/171906530514/prompt-154-theres-only-one-bed-for) S1, guest stars Skye and Fitz. Fluff.

“Alright,” Ward says, his tone flat, if only a touch tired. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Jemma wastes just a second eyeing Fitz and Skye to make sure that they are not going to approve of his silliness, and she’s happy to see that neither of them is too fond of the idea, then she turns towards Ward, crossing her arms and trying to look as authoritative as she can.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she reprimands.

Ward raises his eyebrow. “There’s only one bed,” he points out, as if in the pretty much empty room the lack of any surface suitable to sleep aside from the queen-sized bed wasn’t evident.

“You are _injured_ ,” she stresses. “No sleeping on the floor for you.”

“You’d think SHIELD would have better holes for us to hide in,” Skye mumbles, opening the wardrobe and the drawers, probably just out of curiosity. Ward already did a complete swap of the place as soon as they got in, she surely isn’t looking for any possible threats.

Jemma is about to point out that this is probably the best they could muster on such short notice and that it’s only a place for them to hide in _one_ night, but she’s interrupted.

“We could take turns,” Fitz suggests.

That would be a good idea, if they all hadn’t already been up for way too many hours. She and Fitz have been working for thirty-six hours straight, she doesn’t know if Skye got some sleep or not but she highly doubts it, and since they were ambushed Ward has been watching them all like an hawk, so there’s no way that he got any more sleep than she and Fitz did.

“We are all exhausted,” Jemma points out. She’s sure that whomever sat on the floor to wait for their turn to sleep would pass out right there, just like she’s positive that Ward would volunteer, using his training and resilience as an excuse, and that he wouldn’t wake anybody up to trade places. Which is not happening.

“What then?” Ward prompts, sceptically.

“ _Then_ we make sure that we can all fit in the bed, obviously,” she replies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible,” Fitz replies.

“I’m small,” Jemma remarks. “If I— Ward should sleep on his side with those ribs, I can—”

“Cuddle up with him?” Skye suggests, and Jemma can only blush and hope that her friend’s _giant_ grin won’t give away her frankly embarrassing crush. And this isn’t even about _that_. It’s just the best course of action, since Ward is stubborn enough that he’d argue all night before letting one of them sleep on the floor. Really, it’s not about _her_.

“I wouldn’t _exactly_ phrase it like _that_ , but—” Jemma trails off, stubbornly keeping her eyes off Ward and trying to sound neutral, which is not that easy to accomplish, especially considering that Skye is still grinning at her and Jemma’s need to throw something at her face is increasing by the minute.

“And I can _cuddle up_ with Fitz,” Skye adds, thoughtfully. From her position, she can’t see Fitz’s shell-shocked face, half-way between bliss and panic. Jemma is pretty sympathetic. “Might work,” Skye comments. “What do you say, Robot?”

Everybody’s eyes move to Ward, so Jemma really can’t avoid turning as well, it’d be a dead give-away.

Ward is looking at her, and he seems vaguely uncomfortable.

“I take the side to the door,” he finally announces, because of course he does.

“No guns under the pillow,” Skye jokes, before turning towards Fitz to ask him what side he prefers to sleep on. Jemma takes advantage of the moment to step closer to Ward, pushing down the _huge_ wave of embarrassment rushing through her body.

“Are you sure you are okay with it?” she asks. “I won’t let you sleep on the floor, but if you don’t want to do this, I—I can stay awake a few more hours, I’ve pulled many all-nighters in my academic life.”

It’s not a lie, because if it was she would have been better off just avoiding saying anything altogether considering that he’d immediately have seen right through it, but she really is tired and she’d prefer it if they could all get some sleep. Not to mention that this might not be about _her_ , but the prospect of sleeping in such close proximity to him can’t _not_ be exciting.

“Don’t worry,” he says, after a few seconds. He even offers a slight smile. “It’s fine by me.”

Jemma smiles back, relieved.

 

It does work.

Fitz and Skye probably take up half of the bed, with Fitz lying on his side facing them and Skye lying on her back, but Jemma compensates by sleeping on her side as well, facing Skye as her back brushes against Ward’s chest.

“Are you about to fall off the bed?” Jemma asks, mostly because if she doesn’t say _something_ the embarrassment will swallow her whole. Her heart is beating awfully fast, if it goes on like this they’ll all hear it as soon as they shut the lights.

“I’m fine,” Ward replies, just as Skye quickly sits up to take a look.

“He’s _definitely_ about to fall off,” she corrects. Jemma can’t see Ward’s face, but she’s close enough to hear a huff of annoyance to which she can easily match the familiar eye-roll that usually follows whatever Skye has to say.

“Of course he is,” Jemma mumbles, shifting so that she can give Ward the chance to move a bit too. He does, and he ends up being closer than he was before. Ah, well. She isn’t going to complain.

“Alright, ‘night everybody,” Skye announces, reaching for the lamp and switching it off.

“Goodnight,” Jemma replies. Fitz echoes her and Ward makes a sound of acknowledgement.

It’s a few moments later, when Skye is busy trying to get back in her place next to Fitz and he’s complaining about her elbow piercing his stomach, that Ward’s arm moves and ends up resting around her waist.

“This alright?” he asks, quietly enough that nobody else can hear. Well, it’s probably the most comfortable position for him. After all, she is keeping her arms close to her chest, but he has no room in front of him.

“Yes, of course,” she says, quickly, feeling her cheeks heating up and thanking God for the darkness around them. Since nobody can see, she doesn’t bother fighting off the big smile that appeared on her face. She surely is going to treasure this memory.


	5. "Get behind me, NOW."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Get behind me, NOW" + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/172009117049/get-behind-me-now-and-biospecialist), supernatural elements AU, most people (Jemma included) have magic... Ward doesn't LOL. Banter.

Oh, crap.

It takes Jemma a few seconds to recover from the sight – as much as she’s aware that her magic won’t allow the basilisk to get within five feet of her, its appearance is quite frightening and it activates her panic response, which apparently is freezing up –, and a little extra time to realize that not only Ward has his back turned on the danger, busy as he is inspecting the trees for possible threats, but there’s nothing preventing the basilisk from jumping _him_.

“Ward,” she hisses, glancing at the creature. Its eyes are not on her, and it’s pretty evident that it’s inspecting the situation, waiting for the right moment to strike. Which could be any second. “Get behind me,” she orders, when he turns slightly towards her.

She could try running up to him, he’s not too distant from her, but she has never been good at sprinting – or physical activities as a whole, actually – and if she doesn’t make it in time— Ward is fast, he could manage.

Right now, though, he doesn’t seem to be about to take her at face value.

“What?” he frowns, confused.

Jemma’s eyes automatically run to the basilisk for a second, and she realizes her mistake only when she sees that he’s about to turn. “ _Don’t_ ,” she quickly says, a note of panic in her voice. Fortunately, he listens. “There’s a basilisk, get behind me, _now_.”

Thank God _he_ does have good reflexes. As soon as the words sink in – which is soon enough, fortunately – he sprints towards her, the basilisk trying to strike a fraction of second later. Jemma moves forward as well, helping close the distance between them and reaching for his arm, pushing him behind as her adrenaline spikes and she squeezes her eyes automatically at the upcoming danger.

The basilisk of course never reaches them, pushed back by the natural blanket of protection provided by her magic, but tell that to her racing heart.

“ _That_ was close,” Ward comments, with a brief exhale. They are standing in an awkward position, his chest against her shoulder and her fingers still gripping his vest, as if to make sure that he stays in place.

Sometimes it’s difficult to remember that Ward would be considered by most the weak link in the chain. People without magic are associated with helplessness, and Ward is good at hiding that he’s anything but. Still, she knows better by now, and it’s always unsettling to be reminded that nature is set against him and that there are some things that he truly _is_ close to helpless against.

“Thank you,” he adds. Jemma lets go of him and she moves a step away, turning so that she can face him. He’s smiling, and she can recognize pretty easily that he’s using gratefulness to mask how smug he is – and if she _can_ see it without effort, it means that he’s not actually trying.

“I’m glad to see that you don’t hate me all that much,” he says, in fact, a few seconds later.

Jemma rolls her eyes, still trying to get her body to wash away the aftereffects of the scare. “Not wanting you dead and not hating you are two different things,” she points out. “You are my only back-up here.”

He grins. “To me it looks more like _you_ are _my_ back-up, Simmons.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate, because if you are useless to me I might just let you get eaten alive,” she says, flatly, looking around to make sure that there are no other surprises waiting for them. Not that you can ever really be _sure_ in a forest, but at least there’s nothing in sight.

“Ouch. That hurt,” he mocks. And yes, he’s still very smug. Jemma is already beginning to regret saving his life.


	6. “You’re so clumsy, come here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“You’re so clumsy, come here.” + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/172800534634/youre-so-clumsy-come-here-biospecialist). Established Relationship AU, Sickfic.

“ _Oh_ — bloody hell.”

Grant’s head shoots up from the papers, as his ears register the sound of something falling and he automatically starts moving to rise on his feet.

“Jemma?” he calls, walking up to the bedroom where his wife is supposed to be sleeping, _not_ moving around and breaking glass – even if he does appreciate the distraction: he likes his job, but the paperwork, especially after a solo mission, he could really do without.

“Is everything—?” he starts asking, but he stops midsentence when he finds Jemma with her face buried in the pillow, groaning loudly enough for him to hear. She’s all tangled in the sheets, and judging by the broken glass and the water spilled all over the floor he assumes that she has tried to get something to drink but failed miserably. He’s not surprised: that morning, her fever was so high that she didn’t even _attempt_ to go down at the lab.

“Alright, I’ll take care of that,” he announces, without bothering to hide a small grin because, really, she’s _adorable_. He makes a quick run to the kitchen to get her another glass, then he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, scratching the back of her head to get her attention.

“You’re so clumsy, you know that?” he teases, when she starts rolling around to accept the water he’s offering. Her eyes are half-closed and her cheeks are suspiciously red, he’ll have to check her temperature again.

“I am _not_ ,” she protests, her voice a bit husky. “What I am is _feverish_. And at high risk of dying of dehydration.”

He chuckles slightly at that, shaking his head. “Not on my watch,” he assures. “Did you get some sleep?”

“Some,” she mumbles, as soon as she’s done drinking. “You know what would make me feel better?” she asks, staring at him innocently.

“I have to fill out paperwork, Jem,” he reminds her, moving a lock of hair behind her ear as she literally _pouts_. That’s not fair, how can he be expected to do what he’s supposed to when she’s giving him that face?

“I need you now,” she protests. “I’m unwell, you should take care of me. Before you have to take off again, that is.”

“So now you try to guilt-trip me, uh?” he comments, mocking a bit of offence, even if he’s mostly amused. Jemma has grabbed his shirt and she’s trying to pull him towards her, albeit without much force.

“Whatever works,” she shrugs. “Please, Grant?”

He huffs, but he can’t really do much to convey annoyance when he can’t seem to be able to knock that grin off his own face. After all, they don’t get many domestic moments like this one, do they? He’s always running around, and for all he knows two days from now he might be sent somewhere in Europe and be gone for months— to hell with paperwork, he’ll stay up all night to fill it if he has to.

“ _Alright_ , make me some room,” he gives in, and as a reward he gets a big smile and a little cry of victory. After he slides under the covers, she settles easily into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder as she wraps her legs and arms around him. She’s basically a small furnace and there are three layers on top of them, which means that he’s not going to appreciate the temperature one bit, but he’s survived literal deserts, he’s sure he can find a way to enjoy _this_ anyway.


	7. “Put your seatbelt on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“Put your seatbelt on.” + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/172800539674/put-your-seatbelt-on-biospecialist-this-is). Established Relationship AU, banter.

“This is _insane_ ,” Jemma lets out under her breath.

Grant doesn’t bother answering, keeping his left hand on her lower back to make sure that she’s moving forward and that he can keep attempting to cover her from the bullets that are being fired behind them.

“ _We are clear_ ,” Skye announces over the comm, which is somewhat of a relief, but right now he’s a little bit too concerned with Jemma’s safety to properly rejoice because the _other_ two uncertified members of the team managed to not get themselves killed in his absence.

Fortunately, they manage to climb into the car unscratched as well.

“Keep your head down, and hold on tight,” he orders, taking a last shot before closing the door and starting the car.

He’s already got his foot on the accelerator when Jemma reprimands: “ _Grant_ , put your seatbelt on.”

“Are you serious right now?” he asks, glancing at her before going back to paying attention to the road. He’d really love to run over some of those guys purely out of _spite_ – Jemma is unharmed, but there _were_ bullets flying all around her and he took quite the scare –, but his cover probably would consider it too _unethical_ when they could simply drive away, and his wife certainly would have something to say on the matter.

So no unnecessary killing it is.

“I most certainly _am_ , you are driving like a _maniac_ ,” she remarks. The background noise of bullets bumping against the car probably adds to the atmosphere.

“ _That’s_ why I don’t really have hands to do it right now,” he replies, which is— not too accurate, he could probably do both things one-handed, but it’d be pointless to split his attention like that.

Jemma probably knows that it’s a bullshit excuse too, but she doesn’t address it. Instead, while making sure to keep her head down at all times, she leans towards him to take care of the safety issue herself. He can’t help chuckling at that.

“What?” she replies, defensively. “It’d be ridiculous to get thrown out of the car after surviving a shoot-out, and all because you couldn’t be _bothered_ to buckle your seatbelt.”

Grant glances at the rear-view mirror to confirm that he’s left the danger behind, then his eyes run to Jemma, who’s still keeping her head down under her arms, her face as close to her legs as she can manage.

“It’s clear, you can come up,” he assures, before reporting their status to the rest of the team. He’s given their location so that they can rendezvous, then he’s left alone with Jemma once again.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing her to make sure that there aren’t any injuries that he missed. She looks a bit shaken up, but nothing major.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assures. “What about you? Any gunshots that you are foolishly trying to hide from me?”

He’s not looking at her, but he’s willing to bet that she’s carefully inspecting him with her eyes, looking for a single drop of blood. “No, I’m good,” he replies. He knows that that alone won’t distract her from her suspicions, though. “Especially now that I have my seatbelt on,” he adds, playfully.

“ _Stop_ teasing me,” Jemma immediately protests, throwing a light punch at his arm, which gets a chuckle out of him. “Driving safety is a serious issue and _you_ are reckless.”

“I was too busy getting _shot_ at to worry about my seatbelt. And _you_ are turning into a stereotypical hysterical housewife.” He glances at her, mostly to see her reaction at his words, and sure enough she’s rendered speechless for a few moments. That never lasts long, though.

“So _I_ am an hysterical housewife?” she scoffs. “Have you already forgotten _your_ reaction when I decided to join a field team?”

Ouch. Touché. “ _That_ was completely—” he tries to protest, but he’s cut off.

“Hysterical. I was fairly sure that your head was about to burst any minute,” she completes, and she’s grinning proudly the way she always does when she thinks that she’s successfully closed an argument.

“Okay, so maybe we are _two_ hysterical housewives,” he finally concedes, even if he personally is convinced that his reaction upon learning that Jemma wanted to go out and risk her life everyday was even _too_ contained. Good thing Coulson is allergic to protocol and he decided to let them work on the same team, he doesn’t think he could balance keeping his cover to get that damn intel for John with the constant worry that his wife is somewhere with some field team and some random specialist watching her back – not if he wants to stay sane, at least.

“Maybe,” she agrees, a slight smile on her face as her shoulders visibly relax against the seat. Well, at least he got her to calm down a bit.


	8. “Stop talking or we’ll be found.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“Stop talking or we’ll be found.” + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/172800541984/stop-talking-or-well-be-found-biospecialist). Established Relationship AU, Injury.

“I can’t _believe_ this—” Grant mutters, and if it wasn’t for years upon years of training his heartrate would probably be over the roof right now and he’d be having a nervous breakdown on top of everything else. Instead, his hands steadily put pressure on the wound, his ears are open and ready to catch any sign that they have been discovered _and_ he hasn’t tortured anyone over this. Yet.

“What were you _thinking_ —” he keeps hissing. “—tackling somebody with a _knife_ , it’s—”

“I was _thinking_ that you were looking the other way and I didn’t have a gun to shoot him, you moron,” she replies, and as much as she tries to make it sound witty it’s pretty evident that she’s in pain and that she would be letting out a scream or two if they weren’t stuck in hostile territory with their back-up hopefully but not certainly on their way – he swears, if SHIELD tries to pull with them the same crap they did with John, he’s burning it all to the ground.

“Well, that’s not your _job_ ,” he snaps, which is— not really what he should do. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself and to remember that Jemma is in pain and that the right reaction to that isn’t going ballistic – not on _her_ , at least; he’s _so_ regretting going for a single bullet to the head with that bastard – but trying and make it better for her.

The thing is that getting angry is so much _easier_ than stopping to realize that he’s scared out of his mind.

“Last I checked, taking care of you is what I vowed to do,” she bites back. It’s hard to tell under that crappy lightening, but she seems to be going worryingly pale. “And please, just stop talking or we’ll be found.”

Alright, alright. Deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it comes out a bit strangled but that probably only makes it clearer that he’s being sincere. “I’m just— _I_ should protect you.”

Her expression is softer now, and she even smiles. “And you did a wonderful job at that all-day long.”

His eyes run eloquently to the gaping knife wound to her side. He could _definitely_ argue with that.

“You were fighting off five more people, give yourself a break,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “The others will be here soon and you’ll be able to fuss over me in broad daylight, you’ll see.”

He has his reservations on that, but he decides to smile back at her and not voice any of his dark suspicions. After all, hope can’t hurt her right now, it’s obviously much better than being stuck in _his_ head, where there’s only room for the expanding sense of doom at the thought that they are on their own and a constant loop of _I was supposed to protect her_.

“And _maybe_ this will even put things into perspective for you and you’ll stop pulling suicidal stunts like this,” she adds, lightly.

“If the alien virus didn’t do that, I don’t think anything will,” he mutters, which in retrospect is a bit of a bummer when she was trying to lighten up the mood, but he can’t physically bring himself to stop thinking about how much he’s failed her and how much he _needs_ for her to be okay, to _save_ her—

“ _Grant_ ,” she calls, and his eyes automatically run to her face. “Stop with that. I’m fine, I’ll be _fine_ , and this is _not_ your fault.”

He sighs, nodding briefly even if he can see that she’s not convinced – to be fair, he didn’t even _try_ to be convincing, he’s too damn distracted by how his insides are being painfully thorn apart at the thought that she might die in his arms and he’d be able to do very little about it.

“I am never letting this happen again, I promise,” he says, looking at her in the eye. It’s a foolish promise to make, but he does have every intention of doing his best to keep it. Her eyes soften as she melts into a smile, nodding like she actually believes him.


	9. "Wow, there's a big surprise. I think I'm going to have a heart attack and die from surprise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [40\. “Wow, there’s a big surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from surprise.” + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/179252439664/40-wow-theres-a-big-surprise-i-think-im). Married AU, Banter, Injury.

Grant is already running late. Jemma would like to say that that’s surprising enough to be alarming, but the truth of the matter is that she’d be _more_ worried if he showed up on time.

That knowledge, at least, leaves her a large window to start making dinner: she came home slightly late herself, but she decided to take a good shower anyway and postpone the cooking a bit, which conveniently gave her more time to mull over what to do with what little is left in the fridge – she really needs to go grocery shopping; if Grant is late enough, she might manage to argue that _he_ should be the one going.

She’s in the middle of preparing what she hopes will end up being an half-decent soup, when her phone rings.

She glances at the screen, thinking that it’d _better_ not be— of course it is.

“ _Hey, Jem_ ,” Grant greets her, as soon as she picks up. She’s pretty certain she already knows what this is about.

“Oh, don’t tell me,” she sighs, but she’s already thinking about how to preserve the soup while she’s away.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and a sharp intake of air. “ _I fucked up a little_ ,” he finally announces.

“Wow, there’s a big surprise,” Jemma replies, sharply. “I think I’m going to have a heart attack and _die_ from surprise.”

Grant lets out what sounds like displeased scoff. “ _Yeah, well, are you done sassing me or would you rather let me bleed out?”_

“Tough choices, tough choices,” Jemma mumbles, putting a lid on the pot as she reaches for the medical bag under the sink. Of course she couldn’t have a quiet evening, a nice – or at least _warm_ – dinner and pretend like her husband doesn’t have the dumbest job in the history of dumb jobs, of course not. “How bad is it?” she adds, calmly. This happens often enough that she’s learnt how not to sound panicked, even if her heart always starts beating a little faster and her palms sweat a bit when she has to run out of her house to go and pick up the bleeding, idiotic man that she chose to marry.

Grant stays silent for a few moments, most likely assessing the situation, and Jemma decides to just turn off the gas and deal with what will be left of the soup later. They still have enough to make a sandwich or two in the fridge anyway.

“ _I think you’ll manage to confine me to bed rest_ ,” he finally admits, and at that Jemma’s stomach instantly sinks.

Well, crap. That’s pretty much code for ‘Hurry, I might be dead in five minutes’.

She feels the urge to reprimand him for being so stupid, to push him for the millionth time to at the very least join one of those organizations that sometimes employ him for missions, if he truly likes shooting people and stealing stuff that much, at least that way he’d always have _other people_ with him as backup— instead, she swallows, grabbing the keys to her car and putting on a coat without even changing out of her not-too-presentable clothes.

“Text me the address,” she simply says. She is going to save his life and _then_ she’s going to lecture the dumbass to death. Again.


	10. "You don’t look like an angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“You don’t look like an angel.” + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/181356346984/can-i-get-you-dont-look-like-an-angel-and). S2 AU, Jemma was working undercover in Hydra, Grant never dropped them off the Bus or did any major damage to the team. Injury, Hurt/Comfort.

She’s supposed to be dead, that’s for sure.

She doesn’t exactly know the _how_ or the _why_ for the first few moments, but she remembers pretty clearly thinking that she was about to die, and that—that she’d spend her last moments alone in a deserted road, stuck in a crappy stolen car. Right. Her car got flipped over, very deliberately. By the people who were chasing her. Hydra agents. Whom she had been spying on.

Which only makes the prospective of being dead the good case scenario, actually.

If this is heaven, though, it hurts much more than expected.

Then she realizes that she hasn’t bothered to open her eyes yet. When she does, she comes face to face with Ward, who, as far as she knows, is supposed to be rotting in a cell somewhere.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he immediately asks, offering what could pass for a genuinely concerned smile if she didn’t know him to be a filthy traitor. Jemma realizes a moment later that she’s lying with her head on his lap. Fantastic.

“You don’t look like an angel,” she comments. Her face twists in a pained grimace when she tries to move to sit up and a sharp pain shoots through her back.

“I’ve met plenty of women who’d disagree,” he comments, flashing a grin her way. “Men too, actually,” he adds then, because he’s a smug dick.

She could try to push herself up on her elbows or something, but the more she stays awake the more she realizes that she’s hurting all over, lying against him is familiar and irritatingly comforting and, really, he may be a big fat liar but she’s probably safe in his hands. Surely more than in any other Hydra agent’s.

“What are you doing here?” she asks then, trying to take a look around without moving her neck too much. This doesn’t look like a cell, which makes her assume that they aren’t in Hydra. “Aren’t you supposed to be locked up?”

“Ah, no, not really,” he shrugs. He has one hand tangled with her hair, playing with it like he’s never stopped doing it, and it should probably piss her off. It doesn’t, and she’s tired and sore, so she just pretends like she didn’t notice. “Coulson has had me run a little side project for him, with limited freedom and the chance to check up on you every now and then. I knew that your cover was compromised, so I got to you. We’re in a safehouse, Coulson will send someone soon.”

So he has been out for a while now. And Coulson didn’t think to _mention_ it to her that he was taking the rehabilitation road with her – ex – boyfriend. Not that he owes her full disclosure, but a friendly heads-up would have been rather nice.

Then again, Ward could be lying. She doesn’t think that he’d be incapable of escaping a SHIELD prison, honestly, and this could just be a scheme to lure her into a sense of false security and— yeah, _and?_ Throw her back to the wolves? To _Hydra_? Somehow she highly doubts it: she was already in their hands before he arrived, if he were working with them taking her away would make little sense.

“I suppose it could be worse,” she finally sighs, closing her eyes for a moment in the hopes that it will help with her pounding headache. It doesn’t, unsurprisingly. “How likely am I to die in the next five minutes?”

“You aren’t,” he says, maybe a little forcefully. “You’ll be just fine, nothing a little trip to the infirmary and some rest can’t cure.” He pauses, and she notices that his fingers in her hair have stopped moving. “I promise, everything is fine now,” he adds, gentler, and in spite of everything that makes her feel a little bit safer.

He sounds worried. He sounds _normal_.

She probably has a concussion, she’s confused, it’s okay for her to play pretend for a minute, right? She can go back to being righteously pissed at him when the fog clears, but right now it’s just the two of them, holed up in a safehouse waiting for reinforcements, she’s tired and she just wants to let him take care of her. It’s been _months_ of tension, of looking over her shoulder while doing a job that she wasn’t properly trained for, of spitefully thinking that _he_ would know what to do in her place and that he’s a piece of shit for turning his back on her and leaving her in the midst of that mess— he’s there now, it’s like he never left.

“Yeah,” she sighs, quietly, shifting a little under his hands and allowing her shoulders to relax fully. “I know.”


End file.
